Not a Thing That I Would Change
by winterlit
Summary: Finn reassures Kurt after the events of 'Sexy'. A little Furt brotherly fluff one shot.


**Not a Thing That I Would Change**

Finn tried not to trip over his feet as he walked upstairs to Kurt's room, balancing a tray in his hands. An open door, in Finn Hudson's world, was an invite. Peeking through the crack in the door, he saw Kurt sitting primly in front of his mirror, wearing red plaid pyjamas.

Smiling, he remembered Rachel had an almost identical pair. It was only last week, midway through a diatribe about the nutritional benefits of soy milk, that she had looked him squarely in the eye.

"The mirror is your stage, Finn," she had told him, clutching her pink hairbrush in her tiny hand as a single, crystal tear shimmered against her tanned cheek, and Finn had scratched his head. The Rachel his heart ached for was a natural performer. The world was her stage, and she did not need to clear twenty minutes in her nightly schedule to perfect a trembling bottom lip.

He opened the door to Kurt's room with one hand, tray teetering like a see saw, and his smile turned upside-down, because Kurt was not looking at his reflection with Rachel's zest and zeal. His face whipped from side to side, chin tilted up, and mouth forming an inelegant, goldfish-like pout. A crease marred the soft skin between his perfectly manicured eyebrows, and his pert nose wrinkled as though there was a particularly bad odour in the hallway instead of the comforting, milky scent of hot cocoa.

"Kurt," said Finn, warily, walking across eggshells. "What are you doing?"

"Practicing," Kurt replied. His voice wobbled on the last syllable.

Finn shrugged. "Practicing what, though?"

"Things," Kurt said. The tone of his voice matched his eyes, slate-like and narrow.

It was perplexing to see Kurt like this, but then, the inner workings of Kurt Hummel's mind often perplexed him. Though the ice had thawed between them since the wedding, their relationship was flecked with misunderstandings. Finn wore his heart on his flannel, Drakkar Noir scented sleeves; Kurt kept his heart under lock and key.

In several weeks, his mom and Burt would be spending a weekend visiting relatives in Illinois and knowing the only noises in the house would be the pattering of his drums and the arching waves of Kurt's arpeggios filled him with trepidation.

"Okay, then." Finn raised an eyebrow. "Is this for Warbler Blaine's benefit?"

Kurt sighed and nodded, shiny hair bobbing as he slumped in folded hands, and Finn almost pumped his fist before realizing he held a tray containing steaming hot liquid. Though he might need a first mate to assist him with the navigation, some brotherly bonding might actually be on the cards.

"Oh!" He said, smiling, and set the tray down on the floor. "So, are you two now, well, you know…"

"Boyfriends?" Kurt offered helpfully.

Finn tapped his foot against the floor to the beat of an invisible drum. "Yeah, that."

"Unfortunately not," said Kurt, with a small sigh that clenched something in Finn's chest. "He… he said I had the sexual appeal of a baby penguin."

"What?" Finn spluttered.

"You heard me," Kurt said. "He… he doesn't think I'm attractive."

Finn sat down on the bed, patting the pillow next to him, another invite which went unsaid. Kurt's cheeks were coloured like sad, red apples, and his eyes were watery. Kurt stood up, and Finn noticed that his pyjamas were swinging around his ankles, baring creamy white skin dusted with cinnamon-coloured hair.

"Dude, did your pyjamas shrink in the wash or something?"

Kurt's bottom lip trembled, emotion etched on his face in a manner which wasn't perfect or practiced. Finn gulped as Kurt buried his face into his chest, clutching his shoulders in a tight, painful grip.

"Kurt? Kurt, what did I do wrong?"

The room seemed silent and smaller, all of a sudden, Finn perturbed by the quiet. He inhaled, deeply, and realized that perhaps now wasn't the best time to ask Kurt why he smelled like his battered, half-empty bottle of Axe Downpour instead of the fresh, bright, green apple shampoo he normally used.

"May I ask you a question, Finn?" Kurt said, tentative, voice muffled in the cosy, worn fabric of Finn's t-shirt. "What do you think of Blaine?" Kurt paused, as Finn exhaled, deeply. "Honestly."

Honestly, Finn realized this was a time he would have to think, deeply, before he spoke. Truth told, Blaine reminded Finn of a few aspects of himself he was less than pleased about. Blaine gave off a confident, calm aura, but passion simmered below the surface. He tried to be everything to everyone, and through doing so achieved things he didn't always deserve: free lattes, mall discount, endless solos and… Kurt.

"Well," Finn paused. "You're obviously smitten with him, Kurt. Why're you only asking me now, huh?"

"He… I…" Kurt pulled away from Finn slightly, reached for a throw pillow, and clutched it against his chest. "I just… I don't know what to make of him. He's hot and cold, like that ridiculous Katy Perry song. I don't know what I'm doing, and he doesn't know what he's doing, and God. You're a confused teenage boy, Finn. How do you do this?"

"He's inscrutable? That's the word, right?"

"Yes! That's it, exactly!" Kurt smiled, brightly and all too briefly. "But even if he is one hundred percent gay, as he claims, and I'm not sure he is because even the straightest of boys would bat on my team after kissing Rachel, what if he finds another girl, and then he…"

"Ssh." Finn drew him back into a hug. "You're awesome, Kurt." And Finn wasn't lying. Kurt really was. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of sea green, his skin soft, and he envied the unpractised way Kurt just glided through the hallways, head held high, smooth lines and effortless grace.

"I just want someone to tell me I'm beautiful," Kurt blurted. "Is that so much to ask? But, no. No. I look like a god damn baby penguin."

"But baby penguins are adorable!" Finn said.

Kurt shook his head. "And, I have pear hips."

"Pears are delicious," Finn countered.

"I spent two weeks on those pleated pants," Kurt gestured to a pool of charcoal fabric on the floor. "Two weeks. And they don't even fit any more. The only theatre I'll end up in is Vaudeville."

Kurt was crying, raw and red and breaking Finn's defences further and further with each pitiful sob, and he was at a loss. Reassuring Rachel was not an easy task, even though the things she disliked about herself were the things he liked the most. He had the feeling that reassuring Kurt might well require more verbal ability than he possessed.

"Dude, I don't know what Vaudeville is. But you're still barely shoulder height against me. I look like a baby giraffe."

Finn paused. He'd received more compliments than he knew what to do with at times, but understood where Kurt was coming from. In the summer of Freshman year, Karofsky's older brother had asked him when he was due at the public pool, and he'd worn undershirts there ever since. And, the less said about the time Santana sent him a gift-wrapped box of donut holes, the better. They were utterly delicious, and he'd rubbed his stomach contentedly afterwards, but it didn't stop him doing a second loop of the block on his evening run.

Then, he realised there was one thing he _could_do.

"Kurt?" He said. "Close your eyes."

Kurt gave him a look imbued with suspicion, but squeezed his eyes shut. Finn looked at his step-brother, and gently wiped a tear away from the dip of his cheekbone with the tip of his thumb.

"I'm going to kiss you now. Okay?"

Kurt nodded. Finn took a deep breath, swept his thumb against Kurt's bottom lip, and lightly pressed their lips together. It was short and chaste, and that was more than okay. Kisses didn't always have to explode with fireworks. He pulled away from Kurt slightly, stroking the side of his face, keeping contact.

"See? I only kiss beautiful people." He paused. "Well, uh, except for that time at the kissing booth."

Kurt smiled. His cheeks were still damp, but that Kurt was back. Kurt, proud to be himself, a button-nosed bundle of ideas and energy and wit. Kurt, who taught him what it truly meant to step up to the plate. His Kurt, Finn realized, with a swell of pride.

"I'm not giving you a dollar, Finn, if that's what you want."

Finn snorted. "Twenty bucks says he comes to his senses and kisses you by the end of the year. And when he does? You can go to Rachel, because I'm _not_about to ask you for the details."

Kurt was laughing now, hands folded over his stomach tightly. "Oh, my kiss is worth twenty dollars? Why Finn Hudson, and there was me thinking you were a cheap date."

Kurt's laughs were like an aria. He reached down to pick up his cocoa, inhaling the comforting scent of home, and happiness.

"Thank you for the lady chat, Finn," said Kurt, smiling, as the tension between them melted away like the snowy cap of marshmallows on the surface of his drink.

The milky warmth spread down to Finn's toes, and he returned Kurt's smile.

"Any time, Kurt. Any time at all."


End file.
